


Until Suddenly

by AmazingSuperiority



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: "i just wasn't ready for the responsibility", Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Gen, Not A Shipfic, Origin Story, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Sign Language, Spoilers, dadster gaster, headcanons galore, i originally tried to hide the narratr but now i've decided not to, sans pov, warnings?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5270894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmazingSuperiority/pseuds/AmazingSuperiority
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"i just wasn't ready for the responsibility"</p><p>when all moves on the hope that remains will pull through</p><p>Sometimes you just gotta do what you have to</p><p>You don't remember everything but you remember enough</p><p>sans has come a long way but the road isn't always paved in gold</p><p>this is a sans origin story</p><p>  <i>(god i'm sorry this summary sucks i'll prolly change it later once i know what i'm doing with this story)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> so like. this is a thing now.
> 
> first undertale fic, i suppose, tho this isn't the first thing i've written for it (tho it's the first i've gotten anything finished for so far so that's cool)
> 
> honestly not really sure where this is going bc i just sat down and started writing it but hopefully it'll all turn out okay.
> 
> if anyone has any suggestions (or prompts) i'm totally open to hearing about them!
> 
> also, first time posting to ao3 so there's that
> 
> updates may be slow bc i want to have a a chapter or at least most of one done before posting. (i wanted to write it all at once before posting a chapter a day but i'm impatient) 
> 
> crossposted to tumblr which you can find [here](http://skelebrosprotectionsquad.tumblr.com/post/134063055121)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this has been read over but not really seriously beta'd so if anyone sees any errors please let me know! i'm trying my best but sometimes i miss words or lose track of the present tense 
> 
> (i wanted to get this out before thanksgiving was over but oops that didn't happen. also, this was written like a week before it's getting posted. oh well)

There’s a lot you don’t remember. Sometimes you don’t remember names, sometimes it’s faces, sometimes it’s places. 

The biggest thing you don’t remember is what it’s like to live in a stable household. 

At the tender age of seven and a half, it’s reasonable to forget a lot of things, but you’re not sure it’s normal to forget what a hug from your parents feels like. 

_It’s weird_ , you think to yourself as you hide in the cupboard under the sink, _that this is something that happens_. 

You live with your father in a tiny, cluttered apartment at the capital. It’s not a nice place to live and your father is not a nice man. He’s loud, abrasive, lazy to a fault, and the worst part is that you think he must not like you very much. His name is Bastion and you can honestly admit you never remember him being happy. 

You only hide under the sink when you’re _really_ scared. Your father has never found you when you hide here but you’re worried that it’s only a matter of time. There’s only so many places to hide in an apartment this small but you count your blessings that your father is too lazy to put the effort into actually looking for you when you hide. 

But you’re smart. You’re adaptable. You do your best to not get caught. Most of all, you’re good at dodging hits. 

He yells a lot and more than once you’ve considered that maybe it’s all he can do. It gets worse when he drinks, something that has before more often lately. He’s the kind of drunk that gets weepy and tired when he gets too slammed though, so it’s easy to avoid him like that. 

It’s when he wakes up with a hangover that you know you’re royally screwed. 

You do your best to tidy after him and maintain the household but you’re very small. Smaller than you should be, something that your father always lets you know when he works himself into a rant. Usually when he starts ranting, you try to tune him out and ignore him. 

But he knows all of your weaknesses and where the words hurt the most. 

He scolds you for nothing and ridicules you for everything but the worst thing is when he blames you for your mother leaving. 

You don’t remember her, either. 

She left when you were young and left you with your father and that’s all you’ve ever been able to learn about her. 

“It’s all _your_ fault!” He yells and screams, arms waving wildly. Usually you’re too far away for anything to connect. You’ve been in the crossfire too many times to not learn. “It’s because of _you_ that she left me! I never wanted _kids_! I never wanted _you_!” 

You don’t speak when he starts yelling at you. The one time you tried to defend yourself he came at you so suddenly and smacked you so hard you blacked out for a moment and worried that you might have cracked your skull open. You never tried again. 

“Useless. Totally _useless_. What good is it to have a kid when all they do is sit around and _mope_ all the time?!” 

You always try your best to not be seen and definitely never heard. You try to make it easier on him by hiding away so he doesn’t have to see you. “Why do you have to be here?” he mutters to himself as you hide nearby. It happens pretty often. You’re sure he’s never known you were listening. “Why do you have to make this so hard for me? I never wanted kids…” 

You try to not be home when you can. 

You sneak around a lot out of habit. You make your steps silent, you stick to the shadows, and you never make the first move. You can’t help it when you flinch at loud sounds and keep your head down around strangers. You can’t help but feel irrationally jealous when you see other kids with their parents that care. 

You can’t help the impossible feeling that you still love your father. 

It’s awful and abusive and you’re aware of it but you can’t make yourself stop caring about him. The worst part of the realization is that you can’t stop caring about _him_ even when you _have_ been able to stop caring about _other_ things. 

It’s a vicious process and you know it. 

In a way you can’t help but feel self-destructive. You feel, deep down inside, that if you just hold on a little more, you can make him feel something again. You just know it. 

You know it won’t happen. 

You’ve never been made to go to school, but you’re smart. You’re witty, you’re clever, and you’re intelligent. It’s at the public library where you discover a love for books and learning. Most of what you know about, well, almost everything, is self-taught. 

The librarians all know you by name (first name only because last names are dangerous) and you never cease to surprise them with just how quickly you tear through the books. No matter the subject matter, you read it. You never check any of them out because it would require documentation of some sort but that suits you fine. If you can spend the entire day reading in the library then that just means less time at home. Less time hiding. 

It’s really hard to make yourself leave most days. 

Somehow, despite your father being unemployed, he manages to buy enough food to feed the two of you most days. He doesn’t cook and you’ve always been small but with enough determination (and plenty of accidents), you manage to do it. 

The most important thing you learned was how to take care of yourself. 

It’s on your eighth birthday that your father drops the ball on you and your entire world is turned upside down. 

You decide to spend the day watching cartoons on the couch. Your father isn’t home and hasn’t been for a few days. You assume that it’s safe to stop hiding and spend some time for yourself. Despite being the most self-sufficient eight-year-old you’ve ever seen, you’re still a kid and you love this kind of thing. 

It takes you by surprise when your father slams into the house smelling like stale liquor. You hurry to turn the dusty old television off and hide before he notices you but it’s far too late. 

He reaches out and manages to hold you in one hand by the scruff of your neck. You flinch and wince but stay silent and limp, head down and eyes focused on the ground. 

“I should have left you with your mother,” he hisses, glare deadly. “But,” he continues, a malicious curve to his smile, “she didn’t _want_ you. She said she just couldn’t _handle_ the _responsibility_. She only wanted _one_ of you.” Your father shakes you as you jolt. _What?_ “You’re a _mistake_.” 

You want to ask him what he means but you can’t make your mouth move through your shock. What did he _mean_? 

For once, he indulges your simple curiosity. You almost wish he wouldn’t. 

“I’m talking about your _brother_ , you _idiot_. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?” He grins sharply as dread pools behind your ribs. “You’re a twin, _Sans_ ,” he spits your name like it’s acid and you wince, “and I got the raw end of the deal! You’re the reason Arial left me and if it wasn’t for you, we could have been _happy_. But you _ruined_ it.” 

The fact that he uses your name sends ice down your joints and makes everything seem so much more real. It’s been so long since he’s used your given name that you honestly thought he might have forgotten it. You momentarily tense up and start to turn to look at him. 

He takes the time to give you another harsh shake and then toss you to the floor where you tumble head over heels in your surprise. You turn around as fast as you can and look at him, simply lost. You can’t think of anything to say and you’re sure your face shows it. He sneers at you and kicks you aside when he walks past. 

“Useless, totally useless,” he mutters as he sits down on the lumpy gray couch and grabs the remote to turn the television on, growling when he’s greeted by a cheery kid’s show. He flips the channel as quickly as he can. 

“i…” you trail off, uncertain. You haven’t spoken to your father in what feels like years. “i have a brother…?” 

Your father grunts, and you can tell he’s annoyed by the set of his shoulders. “Yeah,” he barks out, throwing you a bone (heh, _bone_ ; skeleton humor), “you got a twin brother. He’s a little older than you, like five minutes. Name’s _Papyrus_ , or something. Now _shut_ _up_ and _go_ _away_.” 

You scramble to your feet, ignoring the ache in your ribs, and scurry off to your room, head bowed low. You ease the door to your room shut and twist the lock before putting your back against it and sliding down to the floor. A brother? Why had he kept this from you? Didn’t he think that was important? Apparently not. You sit there for a few more moments before you climb to your feet. 

You decide that you’re going to find your brother. 

You glance around the room before grabbing the oversized blue pullover hoodie you got from a lost and found. You shrug it on and flip the hood up, hiding your face in shadows. You open your window and climb out onto the fire escape, intent on heading to the library. 

The thought of finding your brother fills you with determination. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yaYA!!!
> 
> so i really wanted this to be really ambiguous narrator wise until the name was said but i realized that the tags say who the characters are so it's not like there were many options to begin with so i decided fuck it.
> 
> i really just kinda wanted it to look like this could be frisk before the big reveal when i was writing it but frisk isn't even in this story so they're not tagged. oops. (ps i'm also writing a story about frisk so i really wanted to draw parallels between the two)


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans attempts to find his brother and makes a new friend instead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all your kind words on the last chapter! i want to post chapters that are a decent length so updates may be sporadic (esp since i have no idea where this is going other than vague guesses) but i hope you enjoy them nonetheless!
> 
> wow this chapter ended up a lot longer than i though it would be and went somewhere i wasn't expecting. but it's all good. it's starting to come together a little bit. ;)
> 
> special thanks to [ashley](http://asexualmatthew.tumblr.com) for helping me brainstorm and proofing this chapter!
> 
> [crossposted](http://skelebrosprotectionsquad.tumblr.com/tagged/until+suddenly/chrono).

The librarian calls a greeting to you when you walk through the door rubbing your right eye even with your hood up. It’s impressive, or it would be, you think, if you hadn’t come into the building this exact same way for the last few months. 

You raise your hand to return the greeting, a warm feeling in your chest. It’s so nice to come across someone who likes having you around. 

You stop that train of thought before it’s allowed to continue any further. 

The library, like usual, is full of people milling around between shelves and tables New Home is extraordinarily massive, the biggest city in the Underground, so of course there’s going to be a crowd virtually every day. 

Crowds make you nervous, but you rely on them sometimes when you want to disappear. 

You find your feet automatically taking you towards the sci-fi section of the library and you have to force yourself to stop. You love anything having to do with science and space, fiction or not, and old habits are hard to break. You had made it a goal over a year ago to read (or attempt to read) every single book over stars and space and science and sci-fi. 

You’re making good progress, you think. 

After a second of hesitation, you manage to turn yourself away from the shelves to steer yourself towards the line of computers along one wall. You’ve never seriously used one of these, but how hard could it be? You’ve heard that you can find anything on one of these things and most things these days are recorded online so you should be able to find _something_. 

Ten minutes later, you’re no closer to finding anything and there’s an ache in your skull from frustration. You rub your right eye socket roughly. 

You shove the chair back with a moderately loud scraping sound, whip around, away from the glowing screen, and stomp off towards the sci-fi books with a huff. That got you nowhere! You don’t like being this angry—it doesn’t suit you—so you intend to keep reading the book you started the last time you were here to calm down. 

You scan the titles to find the specific one and pull it from the shelf smoothly, finger hooking into the top of the spine effortlessly. 

The text is actually incredibly interesting, you have to admit. Before reading this you honestly had no interest in quantum physics, but, even though it’s a bit difficult to understand, it’s one of the most fascinating things you’ve ever read. 

You lose track of time a bit as you read, absorbed as you are in your in the content. You pause to give a yawn and freeze, grip tightening on the cover. 

There’s someone standing over you, a man, you assumed from their dress and stance, and he hasn’t said anything yet, doesn’t even seem to have noticed your attention. 

All of a sudden, he jerks as if he has been pulled back to himself and drags his eyes away from the book you’re holding to look at you directly. He clears his throat hastily and, while making weird and sometimes complex gestures with his hands, begins speaking in a rusty, faltering voice. 

“E…Excuse me,” he begins, trying for a smile he probably hopes is soothing (it’s not), “but I… I can’t help but… notice the book you’re holding.” 

You get your first good look at him while he awaits your response, and you tilt your head a bit to the right to look up at him. It hits you in that moment that you still have your hood on. You consider taking it off but decide against it. The man above you is tall, extremely so, and a skeleton just like you, something that, strangely, doesn’t fill you with any kind of positive emotion. You blame your father. 

“uh, yeah,” you reply, shoulders hunched as you look back down at the book again. “‘s pretty interesting. don’t understand all of it, but i get the gist. ‘s really cool stuff.” You risk a glance up at him. He’s watching you with wide eyes. It makes you feel flustered, and you stare at the book again. 

“Do you…” he begins, trails off, and sets his face in a way that makes it look like he’s thinking. You hear him take a breath to try again before he stops himself. It’s a little comforting to you, the idea that he’s as awkward talking to you as you are to him. He shakes his head and the gestures begin anew. “I think… I should explain who I am,” he finally decides, kneeling to be level with you. You vaguely appreciate the gesture. 

“My name is… Doctor Gaster,” he introduces, one hand flying through gestures faster than you can make out. “It is nice to meet you,” he finishes, exiting one gesture to smoothly offer his hand. 

You stare at it warily, not sure if you should take it. A doctor? That means this guy’s pretty smart, right? He doesn’t _look_ like a bad guy and you decide to take your chances. You pry one hand away from the book and take his hand in yours. There’s a soft clicking from where your bony (heh, more skeleton humor) hands meet and he leads your hand in a single decisive shake. 

You decide to take a chance. “‘m sans,” you tell him in a quiet voice, pulling your hood back slightly to show off your face carefully. Gaster blinks in what could be surprise for a moment before his mouth pulls down in a small frown. You hope you haven’t upset him already. “nice to meet you too, sir.” 

Gaster recovers quickly and smiles crookedly. “My, what a… what a treat today is turning out to be.” More gesturing. You start to think he’s used to using them to speak more than his voice. For some reason, you want to learn how to speak with your hands, too. “So…” he trails off and motions towards the book again, drawing your eyes back to the pages. “I wanted to… to know if you had any… questions?” He looks hesitant and a little apologetic, like he’s embarrassed to have ever asked now that the words have come out. 

This jolts you for a second. Questions? Of course you have questions. You always have questions. It’s just… you can’t think of them right now. You scan the open page briefly before flipping the pages back to try to find an appropriate question to ask. Gaster is still patiently waiting and it starts to make you a little nervous. You have tons of questions, but, you ask yourself, are any of them worth bothering the doctor for? You’re not sure what qualifies as a good question and you don’t want to look stupid so eventually your now frantic page flipping slows to a stop and you sort of collapse in on yourself to seem smaller. 

You reach up and shift your hood back down as subtly as possible, huddling in your hoodie. You’re sure your cheekbones are flushed. You shake your head no. 

You can’t see Gaster’s face anymore but what you can see of him seems to slouch in disappointment. He’s still kneeling in front of you and you’re in the prime position to watch his shoulders slouch. 

“Are you…” he begins, pausing to twirls his hands around helplessly, “are you absolutely sure?” 

If possible, you sink further into yourself. You wish the puffy chair you’re sitting on would just swallow you whole. You nod, eyes firmly glued on the grip you have on the hardcover. 

“What a shame,” the man murmurs, leaning back a bit. “I’m always glad to… share my knowledge.” He pauses here and you wait, not daring to breathe. “I study quantum physics,” he tells you, “a lot. It’s one of my… passions. And main study focuses.” You catch his movement from the corner of your eye. You think he might have nodded. “My true love, however… is the study of spacetime… and parallel timelines and universes.” 

You can’t help it when your head jerks up. Your eyes are wide and you stare in disbelief. “what’s that?” you nearly whisper, entranced. You’ve never read about anything having to do with “spacetime” before. 

“Let me first explain… the multiverse theory, Sans,” Gaster begins, smiling and moving to sit in the chair across from you. The sound of your name for the second time today (or maybe third if you count the librarian from earlier) almost has you reeling, but this time it’s in a way that’s surprisingly pleasant. 

“You see,” he pauses and looks around, before pointing at a couple of tables with chairs surrounding them a short distance away and focusing back on you, “the… multiverse theory is a concept where… every small change creates a new universe… or in some cases, or some may say… a new timeline.” You nod slowly, absorbing the words before furrowing your brow and glancing at the tables in confusion. 

Gaster looks as well, a small grimace on his face. “I may have… gotten too far ahead of myself. …You see, here and now… all of the chairs are pushed in… and no one is seated at the tables. However… in another universe… or a separate timeline… the chairs are all out. In a different universe, the tables… are full. Do you understand?” 

You think so, but you aren’t sure you get it completely. “sorta, but not really.” 

He nods sagely. “It is a complicated subject,” he relents, head tilted. “But that is the general idea. The concept of endless universes… and timelines… branching off from infinite choices… and possibilities. In a parallel timeline, you could have… chosen a different day to come here… and we would never have met. Or… you chose something else to read and we… walked past each other.” He smiles, genuinely, and you feel yourself smile a bit too. “That is what I love to study most.” 

“‘s really cool,” you can’t help but mumble in awe, and you’re sure you look a little starry eyed. 

“It certainly is,” he hums, thrilled at your reaction. “If you would like…” he trails off for a moment, eyes distant in thought, “I can… teach you what I know?” He fidgets slightly and starts bouncing a leg as he sits nervously, looking just past you. Possibly through you. “I can’t… tell you everything I know, because I know a lot… and you’re very young, but I can… tell you about things you would like… to learn about. I can answer… most any question you could have about… most things. I have a lot of life experience.” 

For a moment, you’re too stunned to answer. This man, whom you barely know, is willing to take time out of his no doubt busy schedule to teach a nobody, good-for-nothing kid anything they’d wanna know? You can’t believe this is happening to you. It’s too good to be true. 

You find yourself nodding somewhat frantically before you’ve fully been able to consider the idea. 

The way Gaster’s face lights up at your response leaves you feeling strangely hollow but also a little warm. He’s genuinely happy and it leaves you so confused. “Excellent!” He’s beaming as he sweeps a hand up his chest quickly twice before bringing the back of it to clap the palm of his other hand. You can’t help the single chuckle that escapes at his exuberance. 

He gives a sigh and rises slowly to his feet. “I’m afraid I can’t stay today,” he mumbles as he frowns. You pull back a little. _This is the fastest_ _you’ve ever disappointed someone,_ a nagging thought crosses your mind. You banish it to the lock-box of your mind. This couldn’t be your fault; he was the one who offered. “I have business to attend to. However,” he pauses and looks at you, obviously gauging your reaction. You hope you don’t look too upset. “I am free for around an hour… every day for the next two weeks. I’d… be happy to teach you some of… what I know starting tomorrow.” 

You nod again, a little too excited to not only get an opportunity to learn more, but that someone actually offered to teach you. You wonder if this is what school felt like. “sounds cool,” you murmur, smile tugging at your face. You can’t wait until tomorrow. 

Before he leaves, you shove the book aside and slide to your feet to tap him on the leg. You ignore how far down he has to turn his head to look at you. “um,” you mumble, shoving your hands in your pockets, face warmly glowing. “uh, can you, uhh…” you trail off and pull your hands right back out, imitating some of the gestures he used earlier, “can you teach me the hand thing?” 

Gaster looks startled for a moment before his entire being lights up in happiness. “You want to learn… sign language?” he asks, voice a little hushed. You nod slightly, watching him timidly. “That sounds like a wonderful… idea.” He gives a small laugh that has you smiling again. “I would be… more than happy to help. I can also… recommend some reference books… to learn some on your own.” 

“don’t have a card,” you mumble, and back in the pockets go your hands. 

Gaster waves it off. “No matter. I’ll let you borrow some of mine.” 

You gape, incredulous. “nu-uh,” you mutter, head shaking. “can’t let you do that, mister. we don’t even know each other.” You take a deep breath to calm your sudden nerves. 

The doctor laughs and stands up straight. “I am W.D. Gaster, Royal Scientist to King… Asgore Dreemurr, at your service.” He puts on a lot of fake pomp and circumstance and it makes you laugh a bit despite yourself. The title makes you shake your head even more and you start to tremble a little. 

“all the more reason to not let me borrow your books.” Inhale, exhale. “‘m just some nobody.” 

The man laughs and reaches down to pat your head a couple times. You hope you didn’t flinch. “On the contrary! It’s not often that… one finds such a bright star… such as yourself! I want you to succeed… in whatever you want in your life. If I can… help you get there, I’d be honored.” 

Your face is hot all over and you bury your face in your hoodie, staring down at your battered sneakers. The shoelaces are untied again. “you don’t gotta,” you insist, twiddling your fingers together within your pocket. 

Gaster doesn’t immediately reply and you glance up to see him giving you a somewhat sad look. “This is exactly… why I do. What good is all this influence… if I can’t use it to improve the life… of at least one other person?” He crouches to face you again. You look away. “I want to teach you… what you want to know and what you… _need_ to know. Can I ask how old you are?” 

“jus’ turned eight,” you tell him softly, “today.” 

He smiles a touch wider and repeats the chest sweeping motion from before combining it with a twirling hand and arm motion, finishing by pointing to the left. “Happy birthday.” Your face flushes in a burning blush again and you quake a little more. Gaster thankfully doesn’t comment on it. “I feel like… it is my duty to spread knowledge… especially to young people who deserve it… and _want_ to learn. You told me you want to learn… to speak in hands. Let me _help_ you, Sans.” 

Him saying your name drives the point home and you have to hold back a few tears that threaten to fall. You can’t speak anymore and take to nodding, squeezing your eyes shut and taking deep breaths. The tears are gone for the most part, and when you open your eyes, Gaster is holding his arms half up, a debate clearly written on his face as he considers something. He seems to come to decision and lowers his arms completely, clenching his fists at his sides. 

“You’re going to do great things, Sans,” he tells you, and for a moment, you believe it. “I know it, and soon enough… you will, too.” He stands and turns to walk away, waving over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow!” 

You blink rapidly, a few tears traitorously snaking down your face. You rub your right eye when it stings You don’t wave back, but you almost wish you would. Instead, you whisper a goodbye to yourself and turn back to the chair where your book lays forgotten. 

You pick it up and smooth the pages, closing it and giving it a little pat. You set it on the table for a librarian to resort (you get lectured the last time you put a book back in the wrong place) and make to walk out the door yourself, feeling strangely light. 

Tomorrow is another day. 

* * *

You return home that night feeling like you accomplished something. Sure it wasn’t much and it really wasn’t anything you put effort into, but must have something special about you if the _Royal Scientist,_ someone that reported to _King Asgore himself_ wanted to take you under his wing. 

You climb up the fire escape the struggle out of the hoodie, hiding it under your bed. You’re sure your father will never come in here, but you don’t want to take your chances. That hoodie is your favorite thing. 

You listen closely, and upon hearing nothing, you creep out of your room and down the hall, ducking through the living room into the kitchen. You root around in the cabinets the fridge for a bit before finding some bread, cheese, and a bottle of ketchup. It’s not much, but it’ll do. You make yourself a cheese sandwich with ketchup and sit at the little folding card table that serves as your kitchen table and eat silently. 

Your mind begins to wander and before you know it, your food is gone but your hunger is not. You frown and slump at the table, chin resting on the surface. You hope that your father gets food soon. There’s not a whole lot left. 

You’re startled out of your thoughts when your father’s bedroom door slams open from the other side of the wall. You fall to your feet and dart towards the sink as your father’s heavy, stomping footsteps draw closer. He’s yelling again, about what you aren’t sure, but he sounds angry. Angrier than usual. You think it sounds like he just heard some really terrible news. 

You pull open the cabinet under the sink and slip inside, closing it silently behind you. You hear your bedroom door creak open, something that only happens when it’s pulled quickly, and breathe a sigh of relief that you hid your hoodie, though part of you wishes you had kept it on to hide with. 

Your father seems to be looking for you. 

He finally stomps out of the living room and into the kitchen, and you hold your breath. You ease as far underneath as you can, pulling the blanket you stowed under here around you, and wait, listening. 

“Where the _fuck_ are you!?” A brief thought crosses your mind and you imagine your father as a roaring lion. “Come out here so I can _beat_ your _ass_!” No thanks. You don’t even know what you did! 

You stay quiet and settle as comfortably as you can; you’re gonna be here a while. 

After a few moments, you hear him sigh and you furrow your brow in confusion. You jump, startled, as the cabinets rattle and there’s a shuffling sound against the door to the cupboard you’re in. Is he sitting against the cabinet? God, you hope not. 

There’s a sloshing sound, like liquid in a glass bottle, mostly full. Even through the thin wood you can smell the liquor. The thought makes you feel even more agitated. You don’t like hiding under the sink for long periods of time, even with the blanket. It’s cramped, dark, and smells weird, and now you can’t get out. Your father will probably drink himself stupid almost literally in front of you and you just get to sit in the dark and hide. 

You start shivering and it’s not from any kind of cold. 

You wish desperately again for your hoodie so you could hide in it as well, but you don’t have it so you have to make do with the blanket. You wrap it over your head and lean in the back corner, burying your face in your knees, hoping and begging for sleep to take you away. 

It must be an hour or so later when you wake up because you don’t feel very rested and your father is sobbing quietly on the other side of the door. The bottle sounds almost empty. You’re pretty sure it was a very large bottle. 

“ _Oh, Arial_ …” He’s weeping, sounding sad and mostly pathetic. “ _Why did you have to leave me_ …” He sloshes the bottle up, probably taking another drink. “ _We could’a dumped the kid somewhere and lived happily together! Sure you got that other kid, but at I would’a had you!_ ” 

The amount of self-hate you feel in this moment almost takes your breath away. Your magic flares a little around you and you will it back down as quickly as you can. No matter how many times you’ve heard it’s your fault your father can’t be happy, it almost makes you feel like total shit. You weren’t even worth the effort to pawn off on someone else. If you weren’t around, they could all be living together as a happy family. Your mother, your father, and your… brother. Your twin brother. You’re still shocked. 

If what your father said earlier is true, then that means you came second, which means… 

He’s right. _You are a mistake_. 

You feel your eyes burn with tears, and you silently choke on your breath to make them disappear. You cover your face with your hands, and run your fingertips around your right eye socket as a reminder. 

The cracks are still there. 

The cracks have always been there. 

You’re not the bright star Gaster thinks you are. You’re a black hole, sucking in matter and giving nothing back but wasted effort. You’re a burden that makes life hard for others and nothing you can do is ever going to change that. 

Your father is sobbing quietly now, no more words forming. You make yourself as small as possible inside the cabinet and silently wish you never existed. 

The cracks are still there. 

Of course they are. You’re made of bones that don’t break easily. Scuffs and scrapes can heal on their own, but cracks mean there’s a fault in the magic holding you together. Cracks mean that a part of you, no matter how small, has turned to dust. Only magic can mend magic. 

Your magic isn’t good enough, just like the rest of you. 

The magic that holds you together is irregular and erratic, flaring up uselessly for no reason at best, and causing migraines and nausea at worst. You don’t know a lot about monster magic besides what you’ve read (mostly from the library but there’s a book you found in a box in the living room about skeleton monsters hidden in your room), but you’re pretty sure that monsters are supposed to have complete control over their powers. 

Unlike you. 

The cracks are still there. 

You don’t remember exactly, but you think you were about three or four when you got them. Your powers manifested slowly, maybe because of their mental nature, but they didn’t fully form for a while. From the books you’ve read, baby monsters start showing signs of magic as early as a few weeks old, and almost always within the first eighteen months. 

Unlike you. 

You actually remember the first time you used your powers. You had been about two and you were in your room by yourself. You were sitting in a scant pile of assorted baby things, blocks and cardboard picture books, when you threw one of them towards the door on accident. Your magic must’ve been more aware than you because next thing you knew, your hands were reflecting a warm blue from your eyes and the block was scooting back towards you. It wasn’t a strong grip, but it worked well enough to bring it back to you. 

You tried it a lot more after that because it was cool and interesting and the blue was so shiny and pretty. About a year and a half later, your father finally found out about your tele-mind-powers (telekensies? Telekinies? Ah, _telekinesis_ ). He demanded to know what you were doing, and at almost four, you thought it was just _so cool_ so you wanted to show off! You’d been practicing for a long time and wasn’t it _awesome_!? 

Your father didn’t like it at all. It was scary, being able to move things with your mind and magic, and he lashed out, somewhat mindlessly. He summoned a bone with one hand and slammed it across your face before you could possibly think to defend yourself. You don’t remember anything for a few days after that. 

You haven’t been able to see as well out of your right eye since and it doesn’t glow right anymore and almost not at all when you’re using your magic. 

That was also the day you stopped speaking. Your father didn’t know any healing magic (“If only your mother was here. Arial was great at this stuff.”) so he couldn’t help anything, but he also seemed, even if only a little, genuinely regretful for what he did. “I wasn’t thinking,” he murmured as he held you for the last time you can remember. “I didn’t mean it. I was stupid. I can’t fix this. I didn’t mean it.” He repeated it like a mantra before he eventually said, “Don’t do that again. Don’t use that magic again.” 

You avoided him for a while after that. He started drinking then with increasing frequency and leaving the apartment more and more. He couldn’t stand to look at you for a long time and got you a hat and a scarf to cover your face. Your apartment complex had a lost and found, the place where you got your favorite hoodie. Any time you left the apartment after that, you hid your face, your shame. 

You adapted to the partial loss of vision and depth perception but you never stopped practicing. The magic felt right as it flowed through you and now you had a better reason to practice. 

Sometimes it would act up and it would hurt. You had to train it to be calm, to be tame, to not hurt you for no reason. Your head hurt for weeks and your skull ached for months and your left eye felt weird burning without the right, but you adapted. You survived. 

Sometimes you wish your magic would burn you up and swallow you whole. 

It didn’t used to burn this hot, but it only works as well as its container, aka you, aka not very well. You’re broken. You can’t fix this. 

If there’s one lesson your father taught you it’s that sometimes things can’t be fixed. 

You must have fallen asleep again because there’s shuffling on the counters above you and the sink turns on, shaking pipes near your head. Your father must be up and making coffee. He always does this when he’s hung over. 

You don’t feel rested at all and you probably don’t look rested either. Maybe you can sneak off to your room and take a nap. If it’s tomorrow then you have somewhere to be. 

Your father’s stomping footsteps fade away and you hear a door open and close. The creak is different than the one for your door and your father’s doesn’t squeak at all so it must be the bathroom door. Time is limited. 

You ball up the blanket still wrapped around you, stow it as neatly as you can in the opposite corner, and crawl out quickly but silently. After easing the cabinet door shut, you practically skip across the kitchen, hoping to make it to at least the living room door frame before he opens the door again. You bump your back against the wall and peek around the corner, slipping around when you hear him still moving in there. You manage to make it to your room and shut the door before the squeak sounds again. You lock your door and wait with baited breath for the thudding stomps to fade. 

You release the breath. Home free. 

You amble over to the bed and collapse onto it, grabbing your lucky stuffed cat plush and holding it close to your chest. Crisis averted. As you close your eyes to take a nap, you take a deep breath and bury all of your selfish self-loathing thoughts deep in the back of your mind. You still have to go to the library to meet with Gaster later and you don’t want to burden him with your bad thoughts. 

The thought of starting your lessons with the Royal Scientist fills you with determination. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * in case it wasn’t clear, gaster is frowning at sans's name bc even if it is a font reference, who names a kid a word that means “without”???  
> * gaster is also using asl, which i am not an expert on by any means, so i will try to keep the descriptions of signs down to words or phrases  
> * partly inspired by [this comic by zarla-s](http://zarla-s.tumblr.com/post/131125197882/you-never-do-see-sanss-other-eye-glow-do-you)  
> * hc: skeletons need a lot of magic to hold them together bc they don't have muscles or ligaments or tendons (aka tissue) or anything to keep their bones together.
> 
> poor sans has a bit of social anxiety bc he's not used to talking to people... he hasn't had a very well adjusted childhood. hopefully we can fix that. ~~inb4 life starts kicking his ass again oOPS~~

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading and be sure to leave a kudos or a comment if you liked it! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


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